


Perhaps even silver

by kuiske



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Gold Sickness, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Minor Injuries, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 19:33:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11470251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuiske/pseuds/kuiske
Summary: The worst part wasn't the sickness.It was never knowing if it was going to happen again.Or if it already had.





	Perhaps even silver

It came out of nowhere even though everything had been going well. Or perhaps _because_ everything had been going well. 

One moment he was smiling quietly to himself, the next he was driven on to his knees and out of himself by a terrible flood of fear.

*

“Thorin! Thorin, what are you doing, _stop_ that!”

He didn’t know where Dwalin had come from, he hadn’t heard him, but there he was, dropping on the floor next to him and pulling him into an embrace that was a bodylock by more than a half. Thorin struggled frantically, trying to get free, trying to get back to ridding himself from the last bits of jewellery he still had on him. Dwalin didn’t let him.

“Get them off,” Thorin pleaded. “I have to get them off, please, get them off me!”

Dwalin loosened his hold slowly and reluctantly, and only just enough to remove Thorin’s ear cuffs. He did it as gently as he could, but it still stung, and when he was done both the cuffs and Dwalin’s fingers were stained with blood. Thorin’s hands had shaken so badly that he hadn’t been able to open the locks and finally he’d panicked and tried to tear them off. He hadn't noticed the pain at the time but he did now, and feeling all the fight draining out of him made his hands shake even worse.

“I had to get them off,” he whispered. Dwalin hadn’t asked, but he felt like he had to explain. “I had to get them off.”

“Why?”

Thorin glanced to his left. The ring lay on a warg-skin rug, exactly where he’d dropped it. It was a miracle Dwalin hadn’t stepped on it when he’d barged in. A gold-flecked piece of lapis as long as his finger-joint set in heavy silver; beautiful, but barely more than a trinket amongst all the gold and gems in Erebor. Dwalin had found it in a heap of treasure he’d been sorting through a month ago, and he’d brought it back to him with a knowing smile. 

Thorin didn’t know whether he wanted to laugh or cry or scream.

“I thought you liked it,” Dwalin said quietly.

“I do. I love it.” Thorin’s voice caught a little. “I can’t have it.”

_“Why?”_

”Don’t you see?! I _love_ it!” Thorin clawed at Dwalin’s shirt, desperately willing for him to understand. “I have to get rid of it, before...”

“Oh.” Dwalin pulled him properly into his lap and wrapped his arms around him, less tight this time. “Do you feel like... back then?”

 _Back then_. As if nine months were ancient history.

“No.” Thorin said hollowly. “Not _yet_.”

“But-”

“I won’t risk it.” Thorin lifted his head from Dwalin’s shoulder and looked him in the eye, jaw set. “I won’t! I could’ve _killed_ you-”

“Nah, you couldn’t have.” Dwalin nudged their foreheads briefly together. “The way you flailed around you couldn’t have cut through a ripe pear, let alone me.”

That really shouldn’t have been comforting, but Thorin felt a little better all the same. Dwalin could take him out if he wanted to, if it happened again. He just had to hope that he _would_ want to, that he wouldn’t just stand there and let him- 

No. 

No.

Unthinkable.

“I can’t risk it,” he repeated. “Maybe it would be better if you-”

“If I _what_?” Dwalin snarled. “’Cause after I’ve followed you to exile and war and half-way across the bloody continent, the answer’d better not be _‘left’_ because of _this_.”

Thorin didn’t answer. Right here, cradled against Dwalin’s warm body, he was as safe from his own madness as he was ever going to be. But he had no way of knowing how safe that would actually be in the end, for him or for the people around him. He couldn’t risk it. Besides it wasn’t fair. He was never going to be less than grateful, but it wasn’t _fair_ to ask this of Dwalin. 

Again. 

Even though he’d volunteered. 

Again.

He was suddenly exhausted to the bone.

“What the hell happened, Thorin?” Dwalin asked after a long silence. “It’s been ages since you’ve tried to push me out of the door for my own good.”

 _Ages._ Nine months.

“I thought I’d wear it,” Thorin said monotonously. “The ring. I was actually clean for dinner for once, and it’s not like we often get the chance.”

Not so long ago they wouldn’t have gotten a chance to wear much jewellery because they hadn’t owned much of it. That was no longer a problem, but only a very select few wore anything but battlefield decorations before going to work in reconstruction or clean-up – hard and dirty work was liable to lead to ruined finery – and most were too tired to do much besides eat and sleep afterwards.

“And I just-” Thorin swallowed. “I loved the way it looked. I was so _happy_ I had it. And I couldn’t stop thinking, once the reconstruction is over I can wear it more often, I can have _more_ -” 

He couldn’t go on. He could almost taste it still, the terrible paranoia burning through him until he’d barely known who he was, who anyone was, or why he should've cared.

“Thorin, _kurdel_ ,” Dwalin whispered hoarsely. “You aren’t _insane_ for being happy you have something pretty, or for wanting-”

“You can’t know that!” Thorin hissed. “ _I_ can’t know that! I can’t tell the difference, so I can’t have it, I can’t have _any_ of it, how am I supposed to- I can’t-”

The corners of his eyes were burning.

Dwalin didn’t say anything. He simply pressed Thorin against his chest and stroked his hair and back like he did when he woke up shaking from a nightmare. 

“I can’t-”

A tearful whimper turned into a sob and something final inside him shattered, and then he was crying hopelessly with his face buried to Dwalin’s neck, clinging on to him with desperate strength, choking on the words he was afraid to speak.

“I can’t-”

_I can’t tell if I’m going mad._

_I can’t tell if I already have._

_I can’t tell if I can beat it again, please help me, I’m tired, I’m so tired, I’m so so tired..._


End file.
